Thursday, 25 June 2009

In the little town of Fuller In a house on Fuller Street There lived the Fuller family Their hair all trimmed and neatThey all had fuller figures ‘cause of course they ate too much All except their terrier Whose name was simply ButchNow Butch was much to skinny He looked just like a whippet And every time his coat got thick A Fuller had to snip itThe mistress of the household who was by trade a fuller was always fulling wool no matter what the colourand so the story goes the Fullers bought a cat. Didn't last the day though the dog is fuller that. last verse thanks to Keith Wallis

Tuesday, 24 March 2009

I think I’ll write a poemabout a little birdso when it’s read out loudit’s the best you ever heard.

I think I’ll write it quick'cos I reckon now't of slowand by the time it’s finishedon you it’s sure to grow.

The little bird will flyyes, flit from bough to boughsinging the sweetest songand warbling, yes and how!

It will bless the hearts of thosewho take the time to stopto listen to the tuneand maybe, when they shopThey’ll buy some wild bird seedand give it such a treatAs if a `thank you` noteto make the job complete!

Monday, 17 November 2008

“Did you see the glass onion”? “I did what a sight,much worse than that scarecrow of old farmer JonesI tell you what’s more, it shivered my bones.”“What’s that”? Came a cry of despair from atop,“More frightening then me”? “This, I’ll have to stop.”Then there was silence and a pitiful cough ,with shouting so loud his nose had dropped off.

“I say” said an Hedgehog, trundling along."What a wonderful carrot to sweeten my song”“No singing here” said a mole with voice deep,The dormouse said nothing cos she was asleep.

Just then dawn broke and a chorus began ,“Oh no!” wailed the mole as he swiftly ran,disappearing from view, quick as he could,the chorus continued and deep in the wood,

the Blacbirds sang in unison sweet,with gusto, the day to properly greet.The foxes, who tired from their nightly forageheard Farmer Jones wife sing,as she cooked the porridge.

“Tra laa troll trallee, tra laa troll tralloo”,A song so sweet as the clear morning dew.The Sun bursting forth with a song of his ownbid good day to the moon, who had started to moan.

“Is it that time already”? “Oh how can it be”?And Farmer Jones wife poured another cup of tea.“The cows will need milking,” a pigeon sweetly cood"Mind your own business” said a frog, “you are rude.”“What do you know” croaked a voice “well I’ll be blowed,just you remember you’re a frog not a toad.”“Do be quiet” said the cart horse with a flick of his head ,“I’m sure it’s too early to get out of bed”

And so it continued like it does every day ,with creatures all over having there say.The Glass Onion? Well of course it’s still there,people come for miles the phenominum to share .Farmer Jones allows sightseers onto his landand can now take a holiday down on the sand .With bucket and spade he sits in the sun,all due of course to a glass On-i-on.